


Chapter 43.2

by NCSP



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Organ Transplantation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:54:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6693973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NCSP/pseuds/NCSP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank and Edward had been shot, but the latter isn't dead, just injuried. How'd he react knowing he wasn't able to protect his Francis?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter 43.2

The moment he opened his eyes he was blinded by the cold light of the room. Last thing he remembered he was standing behind the President, carefully watching the crowd in search for a sign of danger, a single hint and he would've reacted.

Now he remembered. 

He almost jumped from the bed, but was held back from something tied to his arm. He felt the needle move in his vein.

"Stay calm, agent. You can't move from the bed. You've been shot."

That wasn't a good sign. If he'd been shot he'd been too slow, he hadn't noticed something vital and now...

"Francis..." he croaked, reaching out a hand to grasp the bar of the bed.

The fact that a bullet had passed through his body was his last concern. 

If he'd been shot it could only mean one thing. 

He had to get up, to go and check on him, quickly, now.

"You must stay in bed." the nurse put a hand on his  shoulder to keep him down "If you move you risk to rip your stitches."

He ignored her, trying to find a way to get out of that room. He'd to check on him, he couldn't wait a minute longer, he'd to know what'd happened.

"Agent, listen to me, you have to calm down." the nurse said something under her breath and the door opened shortly after, letting a doctor and another nurse in.

"Edward, I see you are awake." the doctor greeted him with a smile, but the Agent couldn't care less. He was trying to speak, but his voice didn't manage to get out from his throat  and the only way he had to communicate with them was to wriggle in the bed, trying to put his feet on the floor.

"No, no, that's not a good idea." the doctor held him back by the shoulders but he still fought to get free "No, you just got out of surgery, you can't get up now." he murmured something in the nurse's ear and she nodded, repeating it to the other nurse who nodded too.

Before he could do anything the doctor was injecting something in his vein, and he fell asleep. 

When he woke up later his mind was a bit clearer, capable of forming more than one word at the time. Maybe he could also raise from that bed, if he focused enough.

"I see you're awake." smiled another nurse, a third one apparently, and all he wanted was being alone, so that no one would've stopped him if he decided that he didn't need to stay in bed anymore "The doctor said you tried to leave your bed as soon as you opened your eyes." she chatted, and he hated her for her cheer.

"Francis." he said, his voice hoarse, his mind still fluttering because of the morphine.

"The President?"

"Yes."

"He's been shot, too." she answered, and she lost all her mirth. 

"Is he..." his voice broke. He couldn't say the word. He couldn't even think it.

"No, but he's been severely injured. He'll need a new liver." she told him before thinking that maybe those were private informations "Please, don't say this to anyone."

"How am I supposed to?" he snorted "I have to see him."

"You can't, Edward. As you've been told before you underwent surgery a few hours ago, and no one except the First Lady and the doctors is allowed to visit the President." 

"Tell her it's me asking, she won't oppose." he propped himself up but was forced  by the piercing pain in his side to fall back on the pillows.

"Even if she won't, your doctors will. And so do I."

"I haven't asked for your opinion." he said through gritted teeth. 

"Well, you'll have it nonetheless. You can't walk now, you must wait for your wounds to heal."

"Give me a wheelchair." he wasn't used to being so rude, but Francis had been shot, and he had to, must, reach him, no matter what.

"Listen to me, Edward: you must lay down. That's not a suggestion, it's an order if that's easier to understand." her tone had shifted, becoming more practical and despite the fact he'd just been treated as a child he liked her a little more.

"Nurse," he called her, feeling another wave of numbness coming from his body drugged with morphine "Can you at least find out something more about how he is?"

"Sure," she smiled sweetly "But now you should rest, I'm serious. I'll tell you what I find out later." she fixed his sheets and left, leaving him alone.

He considered the option of disobeying now that no one was guarding him, but when he lifted his arm to prop himself up he moaned in pain, and realised he couldn't really consider the idea of leaving the room alone.

He settled for waiting the nurse there, but soon he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore and was forced to listen to the woman and sleep.

 

~

 

In the following days it was harder for the doctors to keep him in his room, expecially when he'd been able to stay on the wheelchair for the first time.

The situation was finally solved by Claire's intervention, and he was allowed to reach Francis' room.

He spent his entire days in that room, watching his eyelids flutter while he was allucinating, unable to do anything to ease his pain; he often fell asleep on the armchair with a blanket on his knees till a nurse arrived and led him back to his own room, to make sure he properly rested in a bed.

No one said a word about his constant presence in the President's room. They only asked him to leave if things worsened, and every time the doctors found him behind the door as a lost puppy.

The last days before the liver transplant were the hardest. Francis didn't stop getting worse and worse, they couldn't find a donor and were actually fearing for his life. Edward refused to leave the room, it took Claire's intervention to convince him that he needed some rest in a proper bed if he didn't want to go back in surgery because his stitches had opened.

The doctors and nurses took his presence as a form of undying loyalty and a kind of guilt because he couldn't prevent that from happening. Fortunately they hadn't guessed what was really going on before their eyes.

In the previous months the two man had bonded, even more than how they did in that famous night with Claire. The weeks spent together during the campaign, without Claire who'd left, leaving a hole in Francis' life, had led them to get closer and closer, and they couldn't really tell when it had started. Not even Francis was able to say when Claire's loss had stopped  being something as a sting in the back of his head, the constant remembrance that something in his life had broken. It had simply faded away, substituted by Edward's presence.

And Claire got it, yet she said nothing. If her husband was happy he wouldn't mess with her business, so be it. As long as their relationship remained a secret it wasn't a problem for her. Maybe it was even a solution. And she considered Edward as a friend, no matter what, even if he slept with her husband. 

Doug was another constant presence in these days. He probably suspected something about them, but he never said a word about Edward's worried looks or him sleeping in the armchair in Frank's room. He simply accepted his presence as a metter of fact and didn't ask. If Frank wanted him to know, he'd tell him. Well, if he ever woke up. Doug didn't even want to think about that option, Frank would've survived, as he always did.

The day finally came, when a moody teenager decided to take his own life, fortunately in a way that left the doctors enough time to transplant his organs.

Edward was in the President's room when the news finally arrived. When the doctors stormed in he bolted upright,  fearing he'd missed some bad sign on the monitors linked to Francis' life-signals, but a nurse promptly explained him that they were about to save his life if the could take him to the surgery in time. The Agent then quickly limped out of the room, keeping the door open to let the doctors pass and take Francis to what could be his salvation 

"Doug," he called, stumbling into the waiting room where the man was sat "They..."

"I know. It'll be long before he's out."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to stay here or go back to your room? I'll call you if anything changes."

"No, I'll stay." he didn't want to be far if the doctors had some bad news. Knowing would've been bad, knowing later worse.

"You sure? You've heard the doctors. They told you you should lie down as long as you can."

"I'll stay here." he snarled sitting down, and Doug didn't talk anymore.

They stayed silent for what seamed hours after calling Claire, reassuring her that they'd found a new liver for Frank. Without a word Doug went to fetch some coffee and returned with two cups in his hands, handing one to Edward who grasped it, shaking off the stiffness that had overcome his body.

They stayed there for hours, eight, nine, twelve, twenty, they didn't know anymore. They saw nurses, doctors, coming and going from the surgery and then out, rushing in and out the doors with bandages soaked in blood. The two man followed them with their eyes, and didn't ask. They couldn't. 

A nurse came once to tell Edward he should go and rest, but after the stern stare she recived she didn't try to suggest it again.

It was dark outside when the doors finally opened releasing Francis, and the two man almost ran down the corridor - well, Doug ran, Edward tried, pressing a hand to his side to ease the piercing pain. 

"First of all, Mr. Meechum, if I see you running again I lock you in your room." the doctor said seizing him by the arm "Secondly, you both can stop running."

"Is he...?" Doug voice died in his throat and Edward's eyes shut open as he tried to brace himself for the news.

"No, no he's fine. He'll wake up in a few hours or so."

"Couldn't you just tell us?" Edward sighed in relief and leant on the wall behind him. It wasn't all over, but the worst was. They only had to hope Francis wouldn't reject the liver, but comparing the situatuion with the one of a few hours before he could do nothing but lighter, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I would've, hadn't I seen one of my patients, from whose chest I took a bullet out, running toward me." 

The Agent blushed shyly  and looked at the ground to avoid the doctor's stare. 

"Yeah, now we'll force him to sleep at least a few hours, but tell me more about the President." Doug started talking about medical stuff with the doctor, and Edward turned off his attention. His mind was too tired, too weary to follow their words which were so complex... He really needed to sleep. He'd been awake so long that he didn't remember last time he slept, and probably both doctors and nurses were right, he needed to rest.

But not now.

He needed to see Francis first. So he stumbled behind Duog and the doctor and reached Francis' room, where someone guided him to his usual armchair on which he collapsed.

He heard them talking for a bit, then they said something to him that he didn't understand and left him alone with Francis.

Somehow he managed to drag the armchair next to the bed and fell on it, resting his elbows on the bed, his head on his arms, and listening to Francis' even breath he fell asleep. 

He woke up feeling a hand in his hair.

He raised his eyes and found Francis watching him with a llook he'd never seen before. It was so open, without the usual diffidence, that way to dissimulate everything. Now his eyes weren't alert, they were just calm, lost on his previously sleeping face.

"Francis." he greeted him with a warm smile, reaching out for his hand and grasping it.

Apparently the President couldn't talk yet, dulled by the morphine running into his veins, but he rewarded him woth a smile.

Edward was tired too and had it been anyone else he wouldn't have been able to make up a decent speech, but Francis needed to know what'd happened. 

"I'm sorry," he started "I didn't see that man. I haad just scanned that part of the crowd and I had my eyes diverted from it, I only heard the shots and couldn't push you away fast enough, I'm sorry. I took him down, though, but it was late. The bastard'd already hit you, I didn't prevent it."

"Are you okay?" croaked Francis, answering to Edward's grasp on his hand very softly, but that was more than Edward expected.

"Me? Yeah, nothing bad. I got shot too, but nothing to worry about. I went into an out of surgery in a few hours a few days ago."

"Good." Francis closed his eyes, too weak to focus on something as elaborated as words for so long. 

"I should call the doctors now." he announced. No one had asked him to, but in every decent TV series about hospitals when someone woke up the ones in the room were supposed to inform someone of the staff.

"Mmh." still, Francis didn't let his hand go.

It was that simple gesture that led Edward to lean closer and  brushed Francis' lips with his own.

"Call them later." Francis mumbled making him smile.

"They've to check on you."

"That's an order."

"I'm sorry, sir," he apologized, a small smile gracing his lips "But I have to disobey you."

"Stay."

"I'll come back later." he brushed his hair away from his forehead and made for the door, ignoring the pain in his side.

When he reached the door he had to look back at the man lying on the bed, and seeing Francis half asleep reassured him enough to convince him to leave the room.

He soon found a nurse to tell, and a full parade of doctors and nurses stormed into the  President's room.

Edward collapsed again on a chair in the corridor till someone told him he could go back in the room.

"He's awake, go to sleep." Doug's hand fell on his shoulder and brought him back to reality. 

"Mmh? No, there's no need."

"No? You're bleeding."

"What?" he started touching his shirt to find the wet spot, but he could find none.

"Here, I'll take you back to your room and fetch someone to look after you."

"No, I..."

"Edward, you're bleeding. You need help." he put him back on his feet and dragged him away toward his room "Lie down, someone'll come here in a minute."

Edward reluctantly nodded and rested his head on the pillow. It took him about five seconds to fall asleep. 

When he opened his eyes again he was rather confused about why he wasn't in Francis' room, but then he remembered about the bleeding wound and looked for new stitches, but there were none.

What in the name of hell...?

"Doug." he called seeing the man passing by.

"Ehy, Ed." Doug stepped into the room "Slept well?"

"Why am I here?"

"You needed some sleep."

"Wasn't I bleeding?"

"Well, no, but you wouldn't go back to your room and I had to find a way."

"I had to..."

"No, you didn't. You stayed at his bedside longer than you had to, and ignored the fact that you've been shot too for too long. You should've stayed in bed, not in a armchair in the corner of a room."

"I had to be there." he retorted propping himself up and putting his feet on the floor "And now I have to go."

"Claire's in there."

He stopped in his tracks. Claire might have been fine with them, but maybe it wasn't a good idea showing up now "Maybe I'll go for a coffee." he mumbled straightening his clothes. He didn't wait for Doug to say something, he simply got out of the room, heading nowhere precisely. 

He wandered into the hospital for as long as his body allowed him, then he decided he could really use a coffee and reached the cafe on the first floor. He could've had a cup in his room if he'd asked, but he couldn't stand that place. It was almost claustrophobic, the idea of being stuck somewhere. The single thought of not moving as he more pleased was intolerable for someone so used to stand all day and run when he wasn't meant to stay still.

He was sipping at his coffee when one of his colleagues came looking for him.

"Ehy, Ed. You're wanted upstairs."

"Is he...?" he jumped on his feet, already fearing the worse.

"No, no. It's the First Lady looking for you."

"Oh." he quickly followed the other guard but he began limping shortly after.

"You alright, man?"

"Mmh? Yeah, let's go."

"You took a bullet, man, I thought you dead."

"I'm fine."

"You didn't even stay in bed, you were always in the President's room. Good dedication it's yours."

"It's my duty."

"Staying in his hospital room after you've been shot? I think you could've taken a few days."

"I did. Most of times I fell asleep in the armchair. I had to be there. It's my fault."

"Yours as well as ours. No one could prevent it, Ed, and you took the bastard down after he shot you, I think they're gonna give you a medal."

Edward snorted "Let's go meet the First Lady." he headed for the stairs, but his colleague seized him by the arm.

"What the fuck are you thinking about?"

"Going upstairs?" 

"With twenty stitches? I don't think so. We're taking the lift."

"I need some exercise."

"Edwars, come around the fucking idea that when a bullet pass through your body you can't go on as nothing happened. You have to take a little time for yourself and be a little more selfish than what you're being." he led him to the lift and Edward settled for obeying to that annoying man. If he'd heard someone else telling him to rest and take a little time for himself he would've been the one pulling the trigger.

"Edward." Claire greeted him with a sweet smile when he got out the lift "I'm so happy to see you're recovering so well."

"Thank you, Mrs Underwood."

"Thank you, Johnson, I'd like to speak with Meechum alone."

The guard nodded and excused himself, returning to his previous position at the end of the corridor.

"Let's find somewhere a little more private." she hushed and the man followed her to an empty room "Thank you for being with him while I was away. And I'm not talking about this last days only." she hinted and he blushed a little "He's been asking about you almost nonstop during this last hours."

"I'm sorry, Doug tricked me into sleeping and when I woke up he told me you were here, so I didn't think right being there too."

"Don't be sorry, please, I wasn't saying it as a reproach." she put her hand on his arm "I'm glad you were here. I'm glad you are. And I'll be glad if you will."

He didn't quite get that.

"And you do need rest. Doug told me how you've been in Francis' room almost all day."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't..."

"Edward, please, stop apologising. I'm not saying anything meaning it as a reproach. What I'm saying is that you shouldn't have been there just because you needed rest too. I would've done the same, but I haven't been shot."

"It's my fault he has."

"It's only because of you he's alive and currently asking where you are." she kindly smiled, and Edward felt a little more at ease "Now I'll get you there or he'll give the nurses a headache, and the poor women don't dare telling him to go to hell 'cause he's the President."

"If he's such a troublemaker it means he's feeling rather better."

They exchange a brief laugh and headed back to he President's room in a ushed noise of clicking hills and a sligh limp.

"Look who's here." Claire pushed Meechum inside "You go, I can't do it. He'll ask about Petrov and I've been told to say nothing." she whispered in his ear before turning back to the corridor.

"Edward. Where've you been?" with a single gesture Frank sent the nurses away, and he decidedly had a better succes than Edward since the two women left without a word.

"Doug almost forced  me to bed."

Frank quirked an eyebrow, a small laugh hiding behind his lips.

"Not that way." he snorted and sat on his usual chair until Frank patted on the free part of the bed "He forced me to sleep."

"Did he drug you?"

"You're not funny."

"I've been in a coma till yesterday, I'm not supposed to."

"Now I get why Claire fetched me to deal with you. You're intolerable."

"How lovely. The nurses gave me a warmer welcome back."

"I was here when you woke up." 

"I know." he searched for Edward's hand an hold it "Will you stay here for a bit?"

"As long as you want." he shifted on the bed looking for a more comfortable position and let Frank rest his head against his unwound side "As long as you want." he repeated, tightening his grip on Francis' hand.


End file.
